


Baking

by remanth



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Baking, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-11 01:47:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7870792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remanth/pseuds/remanth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the near-Apocalypse, Crowley and Aziraphale are both at loose ends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baking

Aziraphale whistled a jaunty tune as he mixed the batter with the whisk. It was clumpy and thick though was slowly smoothing out. He had a smear of batter on his cheek that he hadn’t noticed. If he had, it would have disappeared before offending him even further. He smiled as the clumps disappeared. The batter seemed to be at the consistency it was supposed to be. Still whistling, he poured the batter into the little cups he’d set in the holes in the muffin tin previously. He used up all of the batter, nodding in satisfaction. Now, into the oven.

A bell rang from the front of his shop where he kept the stacks and stacks of rare books that were ostensibly his living. Not that angels really needed to make a living. But they provided a good cover and he loved every single one of his books. He held onto them in whatever ways he could, rarely letting a possible customer walk out with one. After wiping his hands on a clean cloth and setting a timer for the oven, he headed out to see who had walked in.

Crowley stood at the counter, sunglasses over his face obscuring his snake-like eyes, and studied the room. It was just as gloomy and cluttered as he remembered from his last visit. Indeed, it looked like Aziraphale had gathered a few more tomes on prophecy and telling the future. He stared, nonplussed, as Aziraphale came out of the back room. The angel was wearing his usual suit, a brown tweed that was several decades out of date. But what threw Crowley was the apron the angel was wearing. It was a bright yellow with the words IT’S INEFFABLE picked out in black embroidery.

“Why are you wearing _that_?” Crowley asked, gesturing at the apron.

“This?” Aziraphale said, glancing down at himself. He smiled as he looked up. “I’m trying something new. Got to keep busy now that the end of the world has come and gone. According to the tips I’ve been reading, an apron is a must when baking.”

“You’re baking?” Crowley asked, wondering if he’d somehow slipped into an alternate dimension. “But angels don’t need to eat.”

“Neither do demons and yet, we still do,” Aziraphale said, tapping a finger thoughtfully against his lips. “Or have you suddenly forgotten those times we’d gone out for dinner, my dear?”

“I haven’t forgotten, angel,” Crowley muttered. He looked away, fiddling with his sunglasses. All of a sudden, he wasn’t quite sure why he was here. It wasn’t like he and Aziraphale had any information to exchange. Or even a possible antichrist to watch over. The real one was doing just fine on his own at the moment.

“What brings you here?” Aziraphale asked in an uncanny echo of Crowley’s thoughts. Then again, maybe it was to be expected. He was an angel after all. “I didn’t think I’d see you for some time yet. At least, the next crisis.”

“I.. I don’t know,” Crowley admitted, shrugging. “It seemed like the thing to do. I mean, right now isn’t as bad as the 14th century but, after the near-Apocalypse, things are a little boring. But not boring enough to just sleep through.”

Aziraphale studied Crowley for several silent moments. He’d always felt a kinship with the demon, much as they were on opposite sides. But they’d once been on the same side, once been in the fellowship of Heaven. And there were times when he just enjoyed talking to Crowley. Making up his mind, Aziraphale beckoned to Crowley and turned to walk back into the kitchen.

Crowley followed, curious. He’d not spent much time in the back areas of the building though he knew Aziraphale lived there. He smelled something that was just this side of mouth-wateringly delicious. The baking Aziraphale had said he’d been doing? Two books stood open on the table and Aziraphale picked another apron out of the air and handed it to Crowley. It was black and had the words KISS THE BAKER picked out in red embroidery. 

“Put it on, put it on, dear,” Aziraphale urged when Crowley just held it with a quirked eyebrow. “Don’t want to mess up your suit. You can help me make a cake.”

Crowley shrugged and put the apron on. He had to admit, he was amused at the words. Which baker was meant to be kissed? And by whom? But the questions were put out of his mind as Aziraphale pushed a bowl towards him and started measuring out flour and other ingredients. He picked up the spoon on the table and started mixing.

As odd as it was for a demon to be standing in the kitchen in the back of a used book store baking with an angel, it also felt like home. Felt like somewhere Crowley could belong. At least, for a little while. He never really liked being stuck in one place. But he felt that here, he could stay. With Aziraphale and their silly aprons. Maybe he’d even decide which baker to kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first ship I remember shipping before I even knew what shipping was. They'll always have a special place in my heart.


End file.
